Bus

I am for some reason fascinated with the thought process (mine) as it operates between waking and "the day's first speech." I have no excuses for this but I have made several attempts at scoring down thoughts before I've spoken on a particular morning- and I have been repeatedly unsuccsessful. However, I awoke this morning with my poem-magnet at work, and though I said "Hello" and "thanks" to the bus driver, what I scored afterward is basically what was formulating prior.

So its a lie, but writers are liars. Thus, "Bus."


Felt like I could only quit my job if I left town.

Running across the boardwalk, carrying his cane.

Smells like big tits in Mo Money

and it's
(issa) cold in the word.